


Smells Like You

by CuriousEmWanders



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amortentia, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, BDSM Scene, But we already knew that right, Desi Harry Potter, I mean it's more like Draco's internal monologue is obsessed with Harry, Light Praise Kink, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, No prenegotiation, Rope Bondage, Safewords, Scars, Service Kink, Service Submission, Wandless Magic, but prenegotiation is acknowledged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26827531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousEmWanders/pseuds/CuriousEmWanders
Summary: Draco may not smell anything in his Amortentia, but that doesn't stop him from taking it to help him submit to his Dom de jour.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 143
Collections: HP Kinktober 2020





	Smells Like You

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober Day 4: Amortentia!
> 
> I added playing with some of my favorite kinks, so today what I really have is Amortentia+Service Play.
> 
> I keep meaning for these to be drabbles but I just get so taken by where the characters want to go... Unbeta'd

They said that if you couldn’t smell anything from Amortentia it meant you didn’t have a soulmate. If you even believed in that sort of thing. (Draco certainly didn’t). (At least most of the time). That was frustrating enough, he didn’t necessarily _want_ a soulmate, (it seemed like a lot of responsibility), (and, well, work), but he had a sneaking suspicion that the scentlessness also meant that no one could love him. Which really didn’t bother him too much. (Almost not at all). 

It’s just that he was reminded of it when he played. Okay not all the time that he played. But when he was in a certain mood, when he felt a certain emptiness, it helped him to submit. To serve. (and yes he knew that that was what got him into this mess in the first place) (but it wasn’t like that). (anymore). It just felt good sometimes, not having to think. Being able to just be. To just obey. To do what his Sir told him to do (He couldn’t call them Master, that was a line he couldn’t cross again). (Plus being reminded of a racist noseless old coot wasn’t exactly _erotic_ ). 

Sometimes he needed it, not having to think, not having to plan, getting to just be. It could be difficult, he didn’t exactly have a steady relationship with anyone. It was hard to get a Dom to agree to play long term (though they rarely refused him when he asked for a one-off). (He supposes it’s hard to refuse a sub when they appear before you, kneeling, hands on the ground, ass in the air, wearing only lacy knickers, a blindfold, and ropes pre-tied to their wrists). There are lots of kinky bastards at the club. That’s the point after all. 

Of course when he’s in this mood there’s one more thing he does to prepare himself. (No, not that). (At least without being told by his Dom). When he’s going to serve he gives himself just one little taste of Amortentia after he puts his blindfold on. That way the first thing he sees or feels becomes the object of his affection. That way he needs to obey them. _Needs_ to show them that he belongs to them. Because he does. 

So here he is, taking his few drops, and kneeling into position in the space used for Dom-less subs. Before him is small shimmering barrier that the Doms will use to check his likes, dislikes, and safewords before they take him for the night. Tonight it signals that he needs to serve the wills and wishes of his Dom. It’s not long before he feels the tingle of someone checking his info. And then he hears a voice. 

“I’m going to take you for the night. Are you ready?” It’s low and fluid, slow. It sounds like he’s right beside him. Talking right into his ear. 

“Yes Sir,” I respond. I’m still here, the amortentia pulsing through my veins but unable to attach to anything. 

“I won’t ask you what you just took, you can keep that to yourself. But tell me, it won’t inhibit our play will it?” He asks. This happens sometimes, not always, some Doms don’t care. Some are very specific about what you take before and during a scene.

“No Sir,” I answer honestly, there’s no point in lying. It makes for bad play. 

“Good,” he says touching the top of my head, and I feel a shiver as the amortentia takes effect. (Oh god I want him). (What a beautiful voice). “Then I only have one last question before I take you away. Tell me your safewords pet.”

I can’t get my words out fast enough. I need to answer him. “My green is ‘More Sir,’ My yellow is ‘Slytherin.’ And red is ‘Potter Stinks,’ Sir.” I finally get out and press myself into his touch until he takes his and from my hair. I nearly whine as he does it. 

“Good pet. I need you to use them if you need them, okay pet?” he says, continuing when I nod, “Now let's go.” He takes the two ropes attached to my wrists and pulls me up to my feet. I manage to stay on my feet without wobbling. He leads me somewhere, my wrists out in front of me. 

“Now pet. I’ve heard that you want to serve me tonight.” I nod enthusiastically. I have to fight myself from responding, I’ve been trained well. I don’t talk unless asked a question. (Or for safety of course). (But oh god I want to tell him how much I want to serve him). 

“Good. Good my pet. I would like you to take your blindfold off and hand it to me. Then stand up good and straight so I can look at you.”

I take the blindfold off, holding my eyes closed for a moment so they can adjust. I bring my shoulders back, move my arms behind my back, holding my elbows. I open my eyes and take a deep breath. (it’s a good thing i did because I can’t breathe). 

He’s _beautiful_.He’s almost as tall as me, but sturdy. Thick, muscled legs. Strong arms hanging by his side. Hands that he can’t wait to feel heavy on his body. (Gods what those fingers could do to him). (And now he wants them in his mouth). His chest covered with dark hair over dark skin. Dusty dark pink nipples. A circular ridge sits over his clavicle, matching the scratches across my own chest. (I have to stop myself from looking higher). (It wouldn’t do to earn a punishment this early in a session). I’m getting hard just looking at him, my dick pressing on the soft lace of my panties. I ignore the throbbing. I’m here for my Sir, not my cock. (though one is clearly needier at the present moment.) 

My Sir walks around me and looks at my body. Oh god I hope he likes what he sees. I don’t want to disappoint him. He touches me behind my neck and I have to stop myself from swaying with his touch as he traces his finger across my shoulder. Then he’s standing right in front of me. Touching my chin. 

“Look at me” he says in not quite a whisper. 

I look up immediately. My eyes flitting around to take in his beautiful face. His lips are lush and biteable. His jawline is strong and I can see the muscles in his jaw flexing. Flex and relax. Flex and relax. I follow his jawline up and see his cheeks briefly before I’m drawn into his eyes. _Merlin_. His eyes. They’re sitting behind a pair of spectacles, rounded with a thin metal frame. Something in the back of my head says I recognize those spectacles. But I can’t follow that thought because I can’t breathe again. I’m too entranced by Sir’s bright green eyes staring right back into mine. He looks like he’s waiting for something. But whatever it is doesn’t come and he takes a step back. It almost hurts watching him take a step back. 

And when he does I realize. I do recognize him. I know him. It’s Harry Potter. It’s Savior of the Wizarding World, Fittest Auror of the year, beat me at every bloody quidditch game I’ve ever played Saint Potter. Oh Circe I love him. 

“Hello pet,” he’s watching me. (How did I not recognize his voice). It’s perfect. 

“I need you to polish my broom.” he says. His broom. (Is that a euphemism?) (As if that weak joke would stop me, my cock throbs again). I’m about to kneel and start for his (perfectly tight) Denims when he snaps his fingers and I realize he’s conjured a Firebolt and polishing kit. 

He snaps again and one of the ropes tied to my wrists undoes itself and winds itself around my chest tying itself into a chest harness. The working end of the rope coming out from the front of the harness places itself into Potter’s-- Sir’s hands. The other rope coils itself up my arm and stays there. 

Sir pulls on the rope and I fall to my hands in front of him feet and his broom. I gather what little wits I have and begin polishing his broom. I’ve barely started when Sir snaps his fingers and the rope that was coiled around my arm is laying in Sir’s hand. I ignore him, He gave me a task after all. (I love him). (I _won’t_ disappoint him).

And then he pulls the rope again and my right arm is now above me. Sir is moving, coming closer to me, using the rope to shift my arm behind my back. He attaches it to my harness and I moan. (I don’t mean to). I can’t help myself. I can _smell_ him. He smells warm. Like muggle laundry detergent and the manor before a storm. He smells like magic. Like powerful magic. Like electricity. 

He seems to like my moan though because he hesitates from pulling at me. I get another good swipe or two at his broom. I’m almost done. (I work efficiently). But his distraction doesn’t last long, and he’s pulling at me again. Pulling me away from the broom polish. And of course I can’t reach for it since I’ve lost my other hand. 

I moan again. Sir is now tracing his hand (his hands!) up and down my bound arm. He runs his fingers under the ropes around my chest. Tweaking my nipples when he comes upon them. It’s like his touch leaves magic trailing where he’s touched. (Which, given the power Sir has isn’t out of the question). I’ve become over sensitive from the power of it, my skin feels like it's extra alive. My dick is now trying to mutiny, attempting to escape, pushing past the confines of the lace. 

I’m almost done. Just a few more passes. Sir is tracing my scars with his fingernail. “I am sorry about these. Though I must say you’re quite beautiful with them.” My Sir has nothing to apologize for. (I was quite a little shit at the time). (Gods, he’s going to give me a fetish for my own scars if he doesn’t move on soon). I focus on the broom again. 

“Ahh. Ahhhh,” I breathe out, silently sending blessings to the designers of the Firebolt for making its handle inches shorter than the average broom. I’ve finished polishing it. (With perfect timing too as Sir’s roaming fingers have reached down to the edges of the lace on his hip bones.) 

“I’m done sir,” I report, and as I do his fingers stop their movement, what feels like only millimeters from my throbbing prick. 

“Ah, good. Now we can get onto the real fun,” he says before he pulls on my harness landing me fully into his lap. My ass dragging across Sir’s stiffness. I think I hear him groan under my own moaning. He wraps his arms around my chest and I can’t help myself, I lean my head back resting on his shoulder. He lets go of me with one arm, opening his hand out to his broom and _Accios_ it. He looks at my work, he must find nothing wrong with it because he vanishes it. 

He snaps his fingers again and my arm is freed from behind my back. Again and my wrists are tied together. He lifts them above and behind my head and he starts to kiss up and lick the inside of my right arm as his hand renews its exploration of my panties, somehow managing to avoid my dick. “You can move,” he says which is good because at this point I don’t think I can help it. His fingers find my perineum and he palms my balls. He continues to ignore my dick moving further down, moving the thong out of the way to trace his magic fingers around the puckered ring. And now I’m bucking again. Being held in place by Sir’s strong arm, preventing me from moving too far from his lap. 

“My my,” he says, “arn’t we sensitive?” he teases. Before whispering “ _lubricus_ ” practically in my ear.

“Yes Sir,” I manage, as he’s now pressing a finger into and around the inside of that tight ring. I can feel how tight I am around his girthy finger. Before I know it he’s in upto his first, then his second knuckle. Part of me wishes I could grind on the stiffness of his dick again, but as soon as I have that thought I’m left without thought again because Sir has found my prostate. I moan, attempting to go fluid against him, but he won’t leave it alone. Sir doesn’t stop touching it. I’m bucking and writhing, being held in place by Sir again. 

I’m leaking so much that I’m afraid that I’ll come any second, particularly with the way that Sir has been pressing on that spot. I don’t know when it happened but there are more fingers in my arse now. Sir must sense it because he’s decided that he actually wants to touch my dick now. (not that I’m complaining). I grind down on his lap as he plays in my copious precome. Gods, I need this. Him. My Sir. (For tonight). (Shut up). 

He must like my grinding, I can feel the wetness through his trousers. He snaps again and his denims are gone, the stickiness rubbing around and between the globes of my arse. I press against his chest and try to align my hole with his dick, but I need help. He presses his palm over the head of my dick and rubs one last time before pulling his hand away from me. I’m so distracted by it, twitching and moaning against his chest that I barely notice that he’s lined himself up and is pressing me down onto him. 

I can feel him moaning as I settle deep on his dick. (I can feel him but I can’t hear him) (I think I may have lost my hearing, my sight too come to think of it). It’s just so intense. I’m almost not sure if I can move, it might be too much. Of course I don’t have much of a choice since the next thing I know Sir is thrusting up into me. 

My hearing must have come back to me because I can hear him whispering in my ear. 

“...tight. I’ve wanted to know what you felt like for years. Since I chased you flying in fifth year. Since I realized I liked guys. Tell me Malfoy, did you ever imagine this? Us?

Draco had to stop himself from screaming his response as Harry found his prostate again; “Y-yes. Yes. Sir. You. Yes. Yes.” He forced out between thrusts. 

“Good. Good pet,” Harry responded, kissing the insides of Draco’s arm again, but this time he kissed his left arm. He kissed up and down his arm, covering his mark in kisses. Then he tipped Draco’s chin up so that they were face to face and he looked in his eyes again. They were so dark with lust, Draco couldn’t see any of the green usually found in them. 

“You’re so beautiful pet. So beautiful on my dick, unable to keep yourself quiet. So beautiful pet,” then he kissed him and time stopped. (I’m positive that it did). It was overwhelming. He could taste his magic. He could feel it around them as Sir traced his tongue along Draco’s lips and inside his mouth. He could feel his orgasm building and he wanted to warn his Sir, wanted to wait until he had permission, but it was so intense, he wasn’t sure he could. 

“Sir,” he started stopping again, clutching against Sir’s dick, hoping he could stave his orgasm off long enough to ask “Sir I need permission.”

His Dom seemed to exactly what he was going to ask, “Okay pet, okay, but only if come with my name on your lips,” he said looking watching Draco’s face. 

“P-- P--” he began as he felt his orgasm charging down his spine, “P-- Potter. Harry.” He said looking into those dark orbs. He could feel his come coating them both. His arse clenching a rhythm he couldn’t repeat if he tried. He went boneless against Sir’s chest, his dick still twitching. 

Harry - Sir - Harry thrust into him one, two more times, whispering, “Good Draco. What a good boy,” as he filled Draco with his warm seed. 

They sat that way for a bit, recovering. Then Sir pulled his softening dick out of Draco before snapping his fingers a few times and Draco’s ropes were gone, a blanket covering them, and Sir began rubbing his arms so they wouldn’t be too sore. Draco knew from experience that the Amortentia wore off pretty soon after orgasm, and he could feel it leaving his body. He looked at Potter, his Dom for the night. He didn’t feel like he was going to stop breathing if Potter looked away from him for too long. He didn’t feel the need to follow his every whim. But damn if he didn’t want him to stay. 

Potter returned his gaze, and as if reading his mind asked, “you wanna tell me what you were on tonight? You don’t have to, but.. I’m curious.

Draco _Accio’d_ it and held the small vial out to Potter. He was tempted to tell Potter to smell it, but Draco wasn’t so sure he wanted to be reminded that Potter could have a soulmate and that he couldn’t be loved. “Amortentia, helps with the submission.” 

“Ah. So what you said… about imagining… Us?”

“Oh, come now Potter, don’t tell me your ego is hurt so easily.” He said, unable to stop himself. But the look on Potter’s face, he was really asking. “No Potter, no. I wasn’t lying.”

“Good,” Potter responded, looking a bit happier about the situation. He gently took the Amortentia bottle from Draco. He uncorked it. Taking in a deep breath. “But really Draco, I was just inside you, I think you should call me Harry. And next time, next time we try it without this.” He gestured between them with the Amortentia vial. 

At first I didn’t notice. (I was a little taken off guard by the idea that this might happen again). But there it was. A scent coming from the bottle. It smelled… warm. And electric, and like Hogwarts before a storm, and like Muggle Laundry detergent. It smelled… like Potter. 

“Yeah, somehow I don’t think I’ll need it.” I said, “But you know it might be time to change my safeword.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Let me know what you think! You can also follow me and talk to me on tumblr @CuriousEmWanders (tumblr.com/blog/curiousemwanders). One of these days I'll learn how to link it for real. Not today!


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